


there's always someone to keep us company

by summerstorm



Category: Pretty Little Liars
Genre: F/F, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-12
Updated: 2011-02-12
Packaged: 2017-10-15 14:58:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/161976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerstorm/pseuds/summerstorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first thing Melissa says when she finds out about Ian and Alison, via an anonymous tape left in the mail inside a bedding shipment neither Spencer nor Ian thought to intercept, is, "That little bitch." To her credit—as far as Spencer's concerned, anyway; she's sure Melissa will second-guess herself over this—she also kicks Ian out on the spot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	there's always someone to keep us company

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Porn Battle prompts -- secret, competition.

The first thing Melissa says when she finds out about Ian and Alison, via an anonymous tape left in the mail inside a bedding shipment neither Spencer nor Ian thought to intercept, is, "That little bitch." To her credit—as far as Spencer's concerned, anyway; she's sure Melissa will second-guess herself over this—she also kicks Ian out on the spot.

Spencer hates that she feels this way, but she does: she's surprised. The way Melissa's been acting lately, Spencer would have thought she'd forgive and forget, and glare at Spencer over her shoulder for lying without even getting mad at Ian for the same thing.

But Melissa doesn't do that. Spencer gets home when Melissa's still watching, and Melissa looks over her shoulder, but she's not glaring. Her face looks blank, on the verge of snapping, but Spencer doesn't feel any anger directed at her.

Melissa says, "Okay, that's enough," nods once, closes the lid of her laptop, and heads to the fridge to make dinner. While it's cooking, she calls Ian and tells him to book a hotel. "I'll explain later," she says, "and so will you," and hangs up.

*

Dinner is early and quiet. Spencer goes with it because she doesn't know what to say or how to answer Melissa's unaffected remarks, the way Melissa just trots around and sets the table and sweetly asks things like, "Where did Mom hide that blender I had shipped here Christmas sophomore year of college? Has anyone ever even used it?" as she loads the dishwasher afterwards.

"Probably not," Spencer says, eying Melissa's back. If this were a normal conversation, she'd ask why Melissa even bought a blender. Cocktails, Spencer guesses, after dismissing every other possibility she can think of. If she thinks hard enough, she can remember the note that came with it when Spencer signed for it—can remember something about Melissa having turned 21 and wanting to have an appropriate gift waiting for her at home that weekend. Melissa's always liked metaphors, and Spencer never asked about that one. Their relationship was already slightly strained. Besides, she kind of forgot the blender existed.

"Normal drinks it is, then," Melissa says, tossing some ice into a glass and pouring herself half a glass of straight-up vodka.

"Are you sure you want to be drinking tonight?" Spencer asks carefully, watching Melissa take a small sip. It doesn't look like she's trying to get drunk, but then Melissa was always good at keeping up appearances, even when it was just family around.

Spencer walks over to get some water from the fridge. She's just closed the door and turned around when she finds herself face to face with Melissa for maybe the first time all night. Longer than that.

"You think you're so much _better_ than me, don't you," Melissa says, shaking her head.

"I don't," Spencer says, barely holding back a snort; she suppresses the sound, but she knows the disbelief is showing on her face. "I really, really don't."

"With your morals and your mistakes and your _regrets_ , _so sorry I kissed your boyfriend, so sorry I kissed your boyfriends_." Melissa has her backed against the wall now, and she's close enough that every time Spencer takes in air, her chest brushes Melissa's. "My life is so much easier than yours, and you get to be strong and bear out all the storms I sailed through."

Spencer does think that. She thinks Melissa found everything easy, and that's not Melissa's fault. What is Melissa's fault, what Spencer can't just deal with, is that she never noticed how Spencer felt about it, or that she hated Spencer for so long. Melissa blamed Spencer for Wren kissing her, too, and she never, not once, tried to talk to Spencer about it. She never gave her the benefit of the doubt. She never heard Spencer's side of the story—of any story. Spencer's side of the story never matters when Melissa has already picked a different side to support.

("I'm not interested," Melissa said once, the third or fourth time Spencer tried to explain herself. That was when Spencer gave up on it, but it wasn't the reason she did.

"But I didn't do anything _wrong_ ," Spencer said.

Melissa snorted. When she said, "You think you can sweep in and ruin my life," her voice was laced with disbelief. She'd said that before, and it had been accusatory. This time, she sounded like she couldn't believe it.

But she did. And Spencer hated that Melissa could just believe that instead of listening to Spencer and realizing she was right to be incredulous, here. Spencer hated that she couldn't tell her own sister about A, that she couldn't even trust her. Spencer hated that she couldn't rule out Melissa as a possible sender of those messages and clues that were more like torture instruments than anything else. But she couldn't, and now she couldn't reply to Melissa's accusation because Spencer could throw the words back at her, but they wouldn't make any sense to Melissa. They might not even be true, and Spencer had no way of knowing unless she asked, and Spencer had no way of asking.

So she shrugged, meaning _I don't know what you want me to say_ , meaning _I've already told you that's not true_ , meaning, a little bit, inadvertently, _Don't you see you're ruining mine?_

They were in the hallway outside her room, from where Spencer could see exactly how Melissa had found out, the perfect angle of Spencer's mirror facing her desk. Melissa set a hand on the wall besides Spencer's head.

"Be _better_ ," Melissa said. It made no sense. "If you want to ruin my life without paying for it, you need to get better at it. You're terrible." Jabs at Spencer's lying skills. That did make more sense. It made sense that Melissa would get back at Spencer by pouring salt on her gaping wounds, enlarging the gaps of self-doubt brought on by the constant comparisons to Melissa. It was cruel. It wasn't something Melissa had ever done before.

"Okay," Spencer said coldly. She was more hurt by the fact that Melissa had said something like that than anything else. Spencer had never meant to make things harder for Melissa. She didn't want to be any better at being a bitch. That was a skill Melissa could keep to herself. And she couldn't stop thinking about the things A knew, the way Melissa'd been acting since she'd come back, the connections and whether Melissa couldn't possibly be saying this because she was in the middle of a game consisting in terrifying Spencer's friends. And Spencer. Spencer didn't believe it, but she wanted to know, wanted to find out, and she couldn't help thinking about it when Melissa was always so distant Spencer could barely think of her as a sister anymore. It was like having a third cousin lodging in the barn.

"Okay?" Melissa echoed, and now she was closer, body pressed to Spencer. Spencer's breathing started coming faster. Fighting was one thing. This was deliberate and intimidating, and Spencer hated that it worked, that she was actually anxious now, scared of where Melissa was going with this. "Do you have any idea what it's like to be me? The expectations?"

Spencer did. Spencer did, but she couldn't say it, because Melissa was breathing over her mouth now, lips touching Spencer's chin, and Spencer's back was pressed to the wall, and oh, god, she was—she wasn't. She couldn't be. She couldn't possibly be sexually frustrated enough for her body to misinterpret fear and nerves as a turn-on, but it was, and all she wanted to do now was get out from under Melissa's stare and lock herself in her room for the rest of the week. This couldn't be happening.

"Do you have _any_ idea?" Melissa said again, biting her lip, eyes flickering down, and Spencer didn't even know who'd moved there, but suddenly they were _kissing_ , Melissa's tongue slipping past Spencer's lips and her hips snapping against Spencer's. Spencer brought her hands up to push her away, but instead her fingers ended up tangled in Melissa's hair, her back arching up to press her chest into Melissa's hands when Melissa palmed at Spencer's breasts, and no. No. This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be—

Spencer heard the sound of her belt being undone before she felt it. She tried to refocus on her surroundings, stop thinking about Melissa's lips sucking on her neck and her fingertips cool against Spencer's belly, over the waistband of her underwear, and but all she could hear was silence, silence and her own breathing, _panting_ as Melissa shoved her hand roughly down, Spencer's pants giving in, tugged down to make room for it, and slipped two fingers inside her, no warning, no _nothing_.

It was awful. It was awful that Spencer was so wet they didn't hurt, that all she could do was rock her hips against them and let out moans that sounded almost like sobs, cries for more that should have been cries to be left alone but weren't at all, not in the slightest.

That was the first time.

It wasn't the last. Not even close.)

"I got _married_ ," Melissa says, like it's supposed to be this meaningful thing she didn't just jump into on a whim without telling anyone. She didn't get married, she _eloped_.

"And I still don't know _why_ ," Spencer says, because she doesn't. She didn't understand when it happened and she doesn't now; it came completely out of left field, and it wasn't like Melissa. Rushing into things has never been like Melissa.

Melissa hits the fridge door with the side of her fist, a dry smack, and leaves her hand there, fingers spreading out until they brush Spencer's hair, and suddenly Spencer does know—can guess—suddenly it makes sense that Melissa would jump into a relationship because this, this thing they don't talk about, this is something that requires more than hiding. It requires stopping. It requires thinking about it and coming up with a way to end it, and Ian being in the house meant precisely that, meant Melissa had stopped sitting on Spencer's bed and pulling her into her lap, and Spencer had stopped wandering down to the barn in the morning, coming down from a bizarre dream, still in that sleepy mindframe where crazy things feel surrealistically tangible.

Spencer blocks it all out when it's not happening and she thought Melissa did too, but then Melissa's always been better than Spencer at handling things. Spencer likes to think of herself as a problem-solver, and she is, she's willing to do it, willing to step up and right a wrong; if she's learned one thing about herself since the whole A mess started, it's that she's good at getting things sorted out. But she needs a distance—the closest she is, the more her perspective blurs.

It seems Melissa's perspective only blurs when she's with Ian. And now that's out, too. Now Melissa's just one step ahead of Spencer, just like she always is.

"It was a _good_ cover," Melissa says, low and sharp, and Spencer's breath catches in her throat.

She doesn't want to think this. She doesn't want to hope for it, but she is anyway, hoping the reason Melissa started acting erratically when Ian came into town was about Spencer, not about him. She doesn't want it to be true, except she does, and this—this is exactly why it's never going to be easy, stepping out of Melissa's shadow. Spencer cares, and cares for all the wrong reasons.

"A very good idea," Melissa repeats, and this time it almost sounds like she's trying to convince herself.

"It wasn't—" Spencer says, words abruptly halted by a gasp. "It was—it was good. It was awful. I thought you were done with me, with—"

It's the wrong thing to say. Spencer knows it's the wrong thing to say even before Melissa cuts in, voice sharp and serious, "With what?" It's enough to silence Spencer. It's probably enough to silence _anyone_.

"Nothing." Spencer sucks in a breath. "Nothing."

"That wasn't nothing," Melissa says, a whisper this time, ducking her head into Spencer's neck. Spencer feels the tip of Melissa's nose on her jaw, brushing back loose strands of hair. When Melissa says, "That was something," pointlessly, it's right in her ear, and at least there's that, at least there's the fact that sometimes Spencer makes Melissa say superfluous things and Spencer likes that even if she can't think about it for very long before she gets distracted by Melissa's teeth lightly tracing the contour of her earlobe, exhaling hotly on Spencer's skin.

Spencer tilts her head back against the fridge; they should move. They should—but Melissa's kissing down Spencer's neck, mouth never faltering, not leaving Spencer's skin for even a second, and now her hands are on Spencer's waist, bunching up her dress as she mutters, "But I have," against Spencer's collarbone, "I have—" against the bare swell of her breasts, one hand coming up to pinch Spencer's nipple through the one layer of fabric. Spencer whimpers and adjusts the angle of her legs, feet sliding forward, body bending lightly at her hips and knees as she lets the fridge hold more of her weight. They really should move, and Spencer keeps thinking that even as she doesn't, feels like she can't, not when Melissa's dragging a fingertip from the ticklish side of Spencer's knee up her outer thigh, around the back, sliding her hand under the heightened hemline of the skirt and higher up, cupping her ass and slipping her thumb under the elastic of her panties.

They're gone before she knows it, she's stepped out of them before it's a conscious decision, and then Melissa's pushing her sideways, her body hitting long edges of things until she's backed against the counter and Melissa's pushing her up. Spencer responds, props her hands up on the countertop and lifts herself to sit on it, and Melissa looks at her, weirdly entranced for a couple of seconds before giving Spencer a long, hard kiss that comes out of nowhere, that doesn't feel at all planned.

Spencer takes a deep, surprised breath through her nose and holds onto Melissa's head, fingers tangling in her hair. She matches the intensity of the kiss with her mouth and feels her body respond to it in other ways, skin tingling under Melissa's hands high on her thighs, thumbs rubbing on the inside of them and making them twitch the way they do when she gets really wet.

As suddenly as Melissa kissed her, she vanishes, only Spencer's still holding onto her, fingers still in her hair as Melissa falls to her knees and sticks her head between Spencer's legs, not bothering with any preamble before lapping up slickness. Spencer feels the touch of Melissa's tongue all the way to her calves, her shoulders, and she frees one of her hands to set on the counter behind her, to hold her up just in case. A whimper works its way out her throat as Melissa's thumbs spread her out for Melissa to press her tongue deeper, harder, tracing little shapes and words, dipping in every now and then, when Spencer's hips slide a little off the counter and the angle is less awkward.

The house is silent outside the kitchen, making it impossible for Spencer not to hear every breath she takes, every kissing, every sucking sound, and every noise Melissa makes, little groans against Spencer's clit that make her put both her hands on the counter just so she can rock up against them. The house is silent and that is all she hears with everyone gone, with _Ian_ gone, now, finally, and Spencer doesn't know what comes over her at the thought, doesn't know why she does it, but she lets the long, loud moan that's been building in her chest for a while come out, lets herself say, "Yeah, come on," and "Yes, please, Melissa," and "I need, I need—oh, god," and scream, scream when it builds and groan out a strangled string of whimpers when she comes, soaking wet as Melissa sucks on her clit, lighter and slower now but decisive, coaxing extra waves out of Spencer, and Spencer just throws her head back and leaves her eyes closed and lets it, lets her, lets her body unwind, for once.

It feels good. It feels incredible.

She's only reminded of life outside her by Melissa's mouth trailing back up her body, starting somewhere near her neckline and leaving a trail of cold up Spencer's skin, of—jesus christ, of Spencer's own wet. Spencer groans.

"Yeah," Melissa says, drawn out, kind of smugly, and plants a kiss on Spencer's mouth. Spencer responds without opening her eyes, lazy and open-mouthed, tasting herself in Melissa's mouth.

She straightens up and reaches for Melissa's fly as an afterthought, laughing soft against her lips, but Melissa catches her wrist and pulls it away before Spencer gets anywhere with that idea.

"Leave it," Melissa says, not unkindly, "I need to call Ian," and Spencer hopes, Spencer hopes Melissa's suggesting she wants the anticipation to carry her through a dreadful conversation and not that this made her miss him, or, no. It can't. It can't have.

Before Melissa disappears out the door, she turns to Spencer, and she smiles a little, just one half of her mouth, her eyes sparkling. Spencer's never seen Melissa smile at Ian like that. Spencer's never seen Melissa smile at anyone like that. There's a realness to it Spencer's not used to, and it makes her uncomfortable, but it also makes her smile back.

It's a short-lived happiness. Her phone rings then, painfully loud, and Spencer gets off the counter on shaky legs to stop it, stopping herself when she sees _unknown_ on the display, incapable of not opening the text right away.

It only says, _You're welcome. -A_

It's possible Spencer gapes at this, and hurries to delete it, the implication that no one but Spencer would even understand, feeling guilty as she does it just for that, but—A can't know about this. If there is _one thing_ Spencer wants under wraps, one thing—this can't get out. A can't know about this.

 _You should know me better by now. I knew exactly what I was sending to your house. Don't worry. I won't tell. For now._

She should tell Melissa. She should tell Melissa, but she can't. Not without talking about this. Not without—without acknowledging what's been going on. Even if she didn't, she can't. She wishes, wishes she could tell Melissa everything, but this is one night. This is one night, and Melissa's inconstant when it comes to Spencer, and if she even mentioned A—it's not like Melissa believes a word Spencer says. It's not like any of this ever makes a difference.

She deletes that text, too, pulls her dress down, grabs her phone, runs up the stairs.

It doesn't matter if Ian's out of the picture again. This thing with Melissa—it needs to not be a thing. It needs to stop affecting Spencer, ruining the clarity Spencer needs to look at things. It needs to stop being something A can hold over Spencer's head. It needs to stop, period.

It needs to stop, but Spencer leaves her bedroom door open. She pulls her dress off over her head, looking in the mirror. She wonders how much A's seen, how much A's spied on. It makes her sick to her stomach, how she can't keep anything private anymore, how it feels like there's a camera everywhere and how that's the kind of paranoid thought she'd normally laugh at herself for, but can't anymore, because A's proven to be capable of that and more.

She hears Melissa's steps up the stairs. She hears them down the hall, turning into her room, walking towards Spencer. She sees Melissa in the mirror, obscuring half of Spencer's body from view before she faces her.

She kisses her before any of them says a word.

It needs to stop, but this is one night. It won't make things any worse to let herself have all of it.


End file.
